There's a ladder,
To fall from heights,
There's a pit,
Dark, in shallow light.
There's the rope
To climb or to survive
There's the knife
To build or to die
There's a stone
Under it, all is crushed
There's the water
Quiet, unnervingly hush
There's the light
For it bears a seeker and eyes
There's the dark
You can't leave, don't try
There's me
And then there's you
you, you are beckoning of it
The trust, The fall, The sound
And everything in it
So give me your hand
And let us escape without pain
The part of our journey
Is arguably its very end

Can you see it?
Can you witness the swing?
Of such hollow cradle
we share, build a world on, call it stable
I saw emotional disarrangement
And felt so pretty
It was holding onto my leg,
Like a kid who is worse than me
The cigarette between my
Teeth are longing to perish
I don't smoke
Because my reflection is calling it quits
At the end, a tree with white sap
And broader leaves
A crying violin,
Sounding in the fantasy of my little bleed
A little misfit, a rebel
Amongst drunken kings and queens

when we are asleep, I dream at nigh width
an empty room so large, yet nothing filled with
the garden and jolly smile behind which
the empty room lurks beside the breeze of breath

the saddening of a clown when he finds his wife died
along with his child in hand who smiled like
fresh-picked daisies, with eyes that cried
towards the pass of his limited time, in the room

the room were perfectly aligned, a job well done for Sarah
The architect, slowly shes burnout off it, in a pit where
she bruises herself, and her bones each time she's not enough
when the room is done, we will find her dead with no blood

this equation is not holding still, the despair for mathematics
or detain of truth, something philosophy introduced with tricks
but when the funding is over or when you naturally give up
you might be a fool to hang yourself, just join the room
you might just be what we are looking for